Cinderella Necromancer

by F. M. Boughan

  “What a mess,” Celia droned. “You’d better clean that up too, while you’re at it.”

  And with a flourish, she, Charlotte, and Victoria took their leave, as Cook and I stood staring after.

  “Oh, child.” Gretel placed a hand on my shoulder. “How she ensnared your father—after all he’s been through—I’ll never understand.”

  As the creak and crunch of carriage wheels disappeared down the drive, I took one final, shuddering breath.

  And another.

  And another.

  One breath at a time, I thought, is the only way I shall manage to live a moment longer.

  But as I stood there, breathing, weeping, memories of the short time since Celia’s arrival played as a silent drama through my head. The idle threats and whispered warnings. Her entrancing touch and the bile-filled offspring she called daughters.

  My concessions. The thievery and servitude I’d allowed for the sake of Edward’s safety.

  How debased I’d allowed myself to become.

  How far we had fallen. I, the daughter of a noble merchant, reduced to this. Barred from one evening of joy, despite the King’s own invitation for all to attend.

  No more.

  I would allow it no more.

  21

  The Three Spirits

  I turned to Gretel with peace in my heart, a calm that descended like a cool wind to reassure and encourage what I might do next.

  “Gretel,” I said, no longer trembling, “would you be so kind as to fetch one of Victoria’s ghastly bird hats for me? I have need of its … parts.”

  She hesitated only for a moment before leaving to do as asked, a knowing within her eyes. And I, awaying into the parlour, pulled the curtains and formed my circle, retrieved The Book of Conjuring and its now-powerless key, and opened the tome to a page within the book’s section marked for illusions.

  On the pages following the spell for hidden things, I found these words: To obtain a wondrous means of transportation. This, I decided, I would need, but beyond that, what of my appearance?

  And what of my sisters?

  Ah, all things in good measure. Patience.

  As I couldn’t find a spell or recitation that might restore my dress, I chose perhaps a more encompassing set of instructions with this end: To gain dignity and honor. I believed I could do with a restoration of both. With the circle set, I inscribed the words as the book instructed, though different this time.

  The items needed for this conjuring were also different from before, though not difficult to obtain for one who has discovered a renewed determination for justice. Ash was no challenge to find, as I’d hidden a bucket of it in the attic, and from the now-empty stable, I retrieved a bridle according to the instructions. The words also mentioned that fasting was required in order to perform the conjuring, and while I hadn’t fasted with intent, I hoped that the lack of time I’d had to consume any food that day would be enough.

  I mention this because it is important. I did not awake that morning with intent to call forth one thing or another. All of the pieces simply fell into place. Can I truly be blamed?

  Gretel waited for me in the parlour when I returned with bridle and ash. I took the hat from her hands and, with a prayer for forgiveness and pity for the poor creature who’d given its life for such a garment, tugged at a wing until it released from amid the milliner’s handiwork. Gretel winced but said nothing as I pulled away the feathers and dried sinew to reveal a thin, delicate wing-bone the length of my second finger.

  “Thank you, Cook,” I said, indicating she should take her leave.

  She did not. “Must you really, girl? There’re terrible consequences for even the smallest of these acts.”

  I shot her a sharp look. “How do you know this?”

  She said nothing at first, but bowed her head with a deep and mournful sigh. “Do as you must, child, and I’ll watch over the young one. But … be careful. I’d hate to think what your father would say, though for all my cautions, he might be the one to guide you through it. Seems, in a way, he already has.”

  She left, muttering words beneath her breath and leaving me frozen in memory and questions.

  What did she mean? Should I go after her and demand that she explain? Surely not now. Later, perhaps, with less at stake and more time to contemplate her words regarding my father and consequence. Otherwise, I might consume my night with further questions and further still.

  I would demand the truth upon my return, but for now, there was much to be done.

  To begin, I took a long breath, and plunged the bone into ash.

  Symbols and letters written as required, I placed the bridle under my knees, faced the east, and read out loud as instructed: “Oh Lautrayth and Feremin and Oliroomim, spirits who attend the sinful folk, I, Ellison, trust in your power and conjure you by Him who spoke and by which all things were made, He who knows all things yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And by heaven and earth, fire and water, the sunlight and the moon’s gleam, send these three spirits to me, and let them come gently and without cause to fear, that they will fulfill in its entirety whatever I command and bring it fully to pass.”

  A shiver ran up my spine as the air grew cold, even while the circle in which I knelt grew hot. Under my knees, the bridle began to tug, pulling itself away from my grasp as a lodestone moves toward blood. I dug my knees in further and returned attention to the book, for there were still more words to recite. Mist, gray and purple and black, rose from the ash and crawled across the circle to my book, wafting fingers of smoke that reached and grabbed and obscured the words on the page.

  These fingers touched the bridle, curled around its length and—with a violent tug—tried to pull it from my hold.

  I almost broke the circle, for this was nothing like Curson’s arrival. He arrived with steady, slow caress, but this—these …

  “Come now,” I read, confidence wavering, “without delay, that you must humbly fulfill my commands.”

  A breeze swept through my hair even though I sat indoors, and the sound of a thousand galloping hooves rose through the ash, louder and louder until the whole house shook and every speck of light from all corners vanished like the descending of night. I bent overtop my knees to keep from falling backward and releasing control of the bridle to the spirits, who still tugged and pulled as if they could not rise without it. I clenched my eyes shut as the world pitched and roiled, mists growing fuller and stronger, hooves and the whinny of horses drawing nearer, and I clasped both hands across my ears for the pain like beating drumbeats and—

  The shaking stopped. The noise ceased, and I no longer felt a pull at my knees. As I couldn’t afford to waste even a moment, I forced the lids from my eyes, took up the bridle, and stood.

  Three spirits surrounded my circle.

  I took in the first one. To the east was a spirit clothed in royal garb, a crown of knives atop his head. Blood spilled down the sides of his face in rivers, streaming from the wounds where the blades carved into his skull. I swayed where I stood at the sight of so much blood.

  It was to him I spoke the required words. The others would wait. “May the Lord in His mercy restore you to your most deserving status.”

  With a voice like a hot blade through butter, he spoke the book’s reply: “Mistress, we have come to you, all of us prepared to obey your commands. Command us to do that for which you have called us, and it will be done.”

  Red rivers spilled from between his teeth as he formed each word.

  These spirits were, truly, nothing like Curson.

  I held the bridle aloft, willing my shaking arms to still. “Lautrayth, I wish for you to consecrate this bridle, so that whenever I shake it, a horse will come before me, in whose mouth I shall place it, that I may mount it and ride in safety wherever I desire.”

  He nodded, took the bridle, and stepped back into darkness.

  I approached the second spirit, to the west. He, unlike
the others, was without form, his purple mist shifting and swirling to reveal eyes and a mouth, then hands and an ear, and then nothing at all.

  I did not fear what I could not see, and so with ease I spoke the following words: “Feremin, I wish to be clothed in a manner that might restore my dignity and honor, that all who see me should be amazed at my presence above all else, unseeing who I am, and seeing only that honor which is due.”

  My cheeks grew warm as I did what the book instructed, and pulled away my undergarments to hold them before the misty spirit. “By your virtue and power, may you have no leave to harm me by this garment, but may the Holy Christ protect and defend me.”

  My shift was consumed in an instant as the spirit withdrew into darkness, and so with a hopeful heart I turned to the third spirit.

  I started, stumbling back one step and then two.

  I saw nothing but a boy, a young boy no older than Edward, with a face so sweet and gentle that one couldn’t help but wish to draw him into one’s arms—

  He reached for me and I screamed. His hand, so small and pale, had not the nails of a human, but the sharp, curled claws of a cat. And as I drew my gaze from hand to boy, my legs became weak and weary.

  “You are Oliroomim?”

  Fangs like a beast’s descended over his lip as he nodded once, and his eyes turned black as pitch without a speck of white. Dark liquid dripped from his fingers, and he cocked his head to regard me as a wild creature to its prey.

  “You have no recitation for me?” he asked, his small voice making me yearn to run to Edward, hold on and never let go. Oliroomim sounded nothing like the others. Where their voices had hissed and flitted through the air as if part of the wind itself, leaving no doubt as to their otherworldliness, this spirit spoke with the voice of a child, clear and direct. I fought a rush of pity for the poor being. No child should look this way, spirit or none.

  When I didn’t answer, he continued. “Dearest mistress, surely you have some need of me.”

  I did. Oh, I did, but I could not bring myself to speak it.

  “I revoke my right of conjuring,” I whispered, “and release you from—”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, mistress. What would you have me do?”

  Around one finger, I had wound a piece of hair from Victoria’s hat. I hadn’t required it for the bone alone. “I wish for a mild affliction on the one to whom this belongs.”

  I dropped the hair into his outstretched palm.

  “Mild?” The spirit curled its fingers into a fist and opened them again, an iron nail appearing in the place of where I’d laid the hair. “Inscribe the name.”

  What? “I don’t—”

  “Write the name on my hand. You wouldn’t want me to choose the wrong person.”

  “But the hair—”

  The child shook his head. “We must be certain.”

  And as much as I ached to break the circle, I couldn’t forget why it had come to this in the first place. I picked up the nail and pressed it into the child spirit’s palm. Bright spots of red blossomed against skin and bone that should not have been.

  “Why do you bleed?” I held my breath. “How can a spirit truly be a spirit if he still bleeds?”

  He laughed, the sound so much like a joyous child that my eyes filled with tears as I drew the nail across tender flesh. “Because I like it.”

  Lord, forgive me.

  And so, into the palm of the spirit child’s hand, I carved the name of my stepsister Victoria.

  22

  The First Ball

  I arrived at the palace on the back of a black steed, my pockets full of ash and bone. Other guests, arriving in their carriages with driver and steward and matched Arabians, didn’t hide their surprise at the appearance of a young woman in a silver and gold ball gown sitting astride an equine of such power that my legs quaked with each step.

  I slid off its back and removed the bridle, tucking it into the folds of my gown until I had need of it again. The horse, loosed until that time, took his leave as lords and ladies stared with mouths agape. None moved to stop him, however. I suppose that was for the best, as I shiver to think what might have happened, had anyone else tried to control a steed born of mist and spirit.

  The steps to the palace entrance were excessive, requiring much concentration and gripping of skirts to traverse. I feared I would lose my balance going up, and didn’t look forward to coming back down. With no rails to assist the journey, the arrogance of such construction drew my hand to the pocket of ash concealed in my dress, where it itched to draw out a pinch and—

  No.

  I had a purpose here, and it didn’t involve the indulgence of petty slights.

  “May I be of assistance, miss?”

  I started at a touch on my arm and nearly stumbled. Bright, warm eyes caught my own, and strong hands upon my back and arm kept me upright. His request appeared so genuine that I couldn’t comprehend he could possibly be asking me—until he repeated the question with a kind smile.

  “Yes, thank you.” I offered him a silk, silver-gloved hand, and we traversed the steps easily. On reaching the landing, I thanked him for his help and he bowed low, touching finger to forehead in the manner of a gentleman to a lady.

  “My delight,” he said, and disappeared into the surging crowd of latecomers. I remained frozen for several moments, the utter absurdity of kindness washing through limbs that burned like fire for one thing and one thing alone this night.

  Revenge, said those feelings I had buried deep.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head to escape the urging.

  “Are you all right?”

  My heart leapt and sank at the same time, if indeed that is possible. I knew that voice, though I hadn’t heard it for quite some time.

  Liesl.

  She stood before me wearing peacock blue, setting off her rosy complexion—but not quite so flattering for her yellow hair. Her bosom peeked overtop the dress’s neckline like two fluffy pillows, which had to have been her mother’s doing.

  “Liesl!” I could not stop the exclaim that tore from my lips. “It’s quite the relief to see you—”

  My words broke at the sight of her politely confused expression.

  “I’m sorry, have we met? I do apologize, you’ll have to forgive me, I get so distracted sometimes. Have you visited my father’s shop?”

  It’s me, I wanted to say, Ellison. Your best friend of uncountable years.

  But I did not, for it became clear in that moment that Liesl, sister of my heart, didn’t recognize me. She saw not who I was, but only … only the “honor which is due.”

  Oh, it worked.

  It truly had worked. The spirits had succeeded in this, too. A part of me wished they had not—for I certainly couldn’t surprise William with my presence now—but the gladness at spending an evening unknown by Celia and her daughters lifted my spirits enough to recompense for losing the familiarity of my friend’s company for a night.

  I shook my head and gestured to the enormous, open doors of the palace that rose up before us. “I’m afraid not. Visiting, for the festival. I—I’m sorry, I mistook you for someone else. You say your name is Liesl, too?”

  She nodded, still wary, but cheerful nonetheless. “Not uncommon, that one. I know at least three others. I think we’re to go through those doors ahead and to the left.” Her voice grew softer as she leaned in close. “I’m scared too, but I’m sure we’ll be all right. I plan to set myself near an empty corner and snack on pastries all night.”

  She giggled, and it brought a curve to my lips despite myself. “You don’t care for the Prince?”

  “Oh no.” She shook her head, buttery curls bouncing. “Could you imagine? Responsibility, meetings, sitting on a chair all day listening to people drone on … it all sounds terribly dull.”

  The revelation was not as surprising as it might have been from another girl. “But you’d never want for anyt
hing.”

  She patted my arm. “Money isn’t everything, in the end, but I don’t mind the excuse for a new dress, either. I’ve come with my brother as chaperon, though I suppose he’s off chatting up some fair tart already. And yourself?”

  The mere fact that she didn’t recognize me seemed proof enough that the second spirit had done its work. How would I answer her question without giving myself away?

  “I’m … ” My fingers brushed a shard of cinder among the pile of ash concealed in my gown, and it struck me that I could not give my true name if I wanted to maintain the spell’s ruse. With a fleeting prayer for forgiveness, I spoke the name that had pressed upon my back so many times—and which I had heard but one man speak in both joy and sorrow, but had never heard him say since the day the illness claimed her from our lives.

  “Aleidis.” I choked on the sound of it, and fought the rising heat of tears. “My name is Aleidis. Plain and simple. And I’ve come alone.”

  “There’s nothing plain and simple about you. What a lovely name—an old one, at that.” She gripped my free hand with such excitement that I wondered if she might pull it right off. “Shall we enter together? We can be announced together, too. Forget my brother.”

  I nodded in reply, for it seemed she left me no choice—and after all, some part of me ached to throw both arms around my friend and tell her everything.

  But of course, I did not.

  My breath escaped me the moment we entered the ballroom.

  The room was much larger and far grander than anything I could have imagined. Our home could have fit inside several times over, and with room to spare. Glass chandeliers the size of grinding stones draped from the ceiling, and silk and mirrored tile flowed from one chandelier to the next. A balcony circled the room, with doors leading to rooms on the upper floor.

  Grandest of all? The contents of the ballroom itself.

  After announcing each arrival, we were to descend even more stairs—a love affair for royalty, I suspect—into the massive hall filled with elegantly dressed guests, carved statues of ice that sparkled like diamonds, a raised orchestra, tables upon tables of food and wine, and all things draped with more silk and gems to rival even Celia’s decorative fancies … yet here, these things didn’t seem garish or out of place.